


Oak & Ash & Thorn

by xdandelionxbloomx



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Corvo Bianco (The Witcher), Disabled Characters, Geralt is heavily based on Witcher 3 Geralt, Geralt owns a Vineyard and used to be a Knight, Images, Jaskier is a sailor, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Sailors, Sea Shanties, disabled geralt bc there's not enough talk about his injuries in the book, idk man the sea shanties finally got to me, pretransformation yennefer bc there's no magic in this au, the sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:22:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29239020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xdandelionxbloomx/pseuds/xdandelionxbloomx
Summary: “Jaskier.” He introduced  himself as Geralt took his hand - warm, strong, calloused from work.“Geralt.” Heat burned in his cheeks as Jaskier deftly flipped their hands and tugged Geralt’s hand up to press a kiss to the back of his palm - as if Geralt were a fair maiden to be charmed.“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Geralt.” Jaskier greeted, a pleased note to his voice that did odd things to Geralt’s stomach.-Vignettes of a sailor and a vineyard owner falling in love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 23
Kudos: 176





	Oak & Ash & Thorn

**Author's Note:**

> hi I'm not dead just super stressed/overwhelmed as usual lol

**_“And over one more set of hills, along the sea, the last roses have opened their factories of sweetness and are giving it back to the world. If I had another life I would want to spend it all on some unstinting happiness.”_ **

**Mary Oliver**

****

Geralt didn’t usually go out to the docks. 

There wasn’t reason to, really, but Ciri had begged to go to the market and Geralt knew that Eskel would appreciate a few fresh pomegranates next time he came to visit. 

So to the salt air, sandy shores, and boot worn wood they went. 

Sea birds cried out above the bustle of the market, circling in wide lazy loops in an attempt to spy any scraps dropped by an unfortunate patron. A few brave ones would swoop down now and then to try and steal from the vendor stalls and Ciri laughed at more than one attempt to shoo them away. 

Geralt kept a hand on her back - she was growing quick, yes, but she was still… so _young_. 

Wide green eyes, the slightest gap between her two front teeth, hair a soft blonde that had been bleached by the sun in her time at his vineyard. She still carried the enthusiasm of her youth despite what she had been through and some part of Geralt admired her for it, learned from her every day. 

As they wandered closer to the actual docks, where the wood was near ancient and creaky though trusty still, the sounds of sailors shouting reached them. 

Underneath the clamor, the sound of a mandolin’s strings wandered - melting from one melody to another not unlike a sailor on leave, stumbling drunkenly from one pub to another. 

“Geralt!” Ciri’s voice made his heart trip over itself - “Geralt, look!” Ciri nearly stumbled as she hurried forward, weaving through the crowd, off like a shot. Geralt huffed a breath and broke into a half jog, his bad leg protesting, to follow her - 

“Ciri, what have I told you--?” He started - only to promptly find his voice caught in his throat. 

There was a man holding that mandolin, fingers paused on the strings as he bent slightly at the waist to grin down at Ciri. 

Geralt would like to think that he’d seen many things in his life - both the ugliest and the most beautiful sides of the world. 

He had never, in his long years, seen eyes like the one that the sailor sported. 

They were dark around the edge of the irises, like the sea during a storm, but the centers were light, almost the color of the sky on a hot summer day. It was the blue that was almost a grey, too bright to be saturated. 

Geralt briefly didn’t remember how to breathe when those eyes turned on him. A blink. 

“I’m sorry.” Geralt managed, offering a half-grimace-half-smile - “I normally catch her before she takes off like that.” 

“Oh! It’s no problem.” The sailor _beamed_ at him, plucking a couple of strings. Even his voice was musical and Geralt wondered if the sea birds had ever joined in on his drunken melodies. “She’s a bold thing - but that’s good for a lady. Trust me, my captain would know.” The man winked at Ciri and straightened up, offering up his hand for Geralt to shake. 

“Jaskier.” He introduced himself as Geralt took his hand - warm, strong, calloused from work. 

“Geralt.” Heat burned in his cheeks as Jaskier deftly flipped their hands and tugged Geralt’s hand up to press a kiss to the back of his palm - as if Geralt were a fair maiden to be charmed. 

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Geralt.” Jaskier greeted, a pleased note to his voice that did odd things to Geralt’s stomach. 

“Jaskier?” Ciri asked and Geralt jolted a little, turning to look at her, having forgotten his audience under the focus of those-- frankly inhuman looking eyes. “Do you know where they are selling pomegranates this year?” 

Geralt sighed slightly - “Don’t--” He turned his gaze back to Jaskier, fully intending to tell him not to worry about it. 

Jaskier, however, interrupted him. “I absolutely do. I can show you the way _and_ provide you with a bit of entertainment - that is, if your father agrees?” Blue eyes pinned him. 

There was a moment of indecision - but a small hand slipped into his own and it was a silent please. 

It did not go unnoticed that she had not corrected Jaskier the way she used to correct others when she first came to the vineyard. 

“Alright.” Geralt huffed, defeated - far too easily. Lambert accused him of spoiling the girl far too often, always said that Geralt had been a soft touch. 

Jaskier laughed - “Excellent.” He spun on his heel to begin leading his way through the crowd, his fingers already plucking an upbeat melody that seemed to make the world around him-- _dance_. 

_“As I came down through Beauclair City at the hour of twelve at night - who should I see but the Toussaint lady, washing her feet by candlelight?”_ Jaskier’s voice was-- lovely, for lack of a better word and Geralt could see why a ship might want him aboard. 

The sound of boxes hitting the wooden docks, the shouting of sailors, the soft offbeat thumping of Geralt’s boots as he limped - it blended together into a backdrop for the song. 

Geralt wondered if sirens really did exist - this man was one if he’d ever seen one, people in the crowd picking up the song and beginning to hum along, leaving an echo of music behind them. 

Ciri was half skipping, entranced as Geralt was it seemed. 

“ _In all my life I ne'er did see a maid so fair since I did roam!_ ” Jaskier laughed, taking a light half hop forward, turning on his heel to walk backwards. He winked at Geralt once more and - to Geralt’s secret amazement - navigated the docks backwards. He must be used to them if he could walk them blind. 

Jaskier only turned to face forward once they’d reached the edge of the docks, not quite back into the edge of the city, but right on the cusp. 

“O’ Captain! My Captain!” Jaskier called, strumming his mandolin wildly. It made Geralt wrinkle his nose slightly and then the figure he’d first thought to be a man turned to look at them. 

An asymmetrical haircut, a long overcoat over a loose pair of trousers - her sharp features darted over Jaskier first as if assessing just what he was calling her for. 

When her gaze swept over Ciri, her eyes softened a little and she heaved a sigh. 

“Jaskier. I’ve told you that customers can pick up the merchandise at the vendor stalls.” Her voice was clear and firm and even over the space between them, Geralt could hear her clearly.

“Oh, but my dearest Shrike. It’s only a couple of pomegranates!” Jaskier danced closer, raising his brows and Geralt found himself staring at him instead of the woman he approached. 

“You’re a Captain?” Ciri’s awed voice came from beside him and Geralt blinked, glancing down at her. 

“I am.” Shrike said, and stepped towards them. She entirely ignored Jaskier and Geralt, crouching down in front of Ciri instead. She tipped her head. “You want to sail, girl?” She asked. Geralt found his lips tugging towards a frown. 

“I--” Ciri furrowed her brows and then, firmly stated, “I want to wear trousers.” 

Shrike blinked and then tossed her head back in a raspy laugh that any other time would have done funny things to Geralt’s stomach. As it was, Geralt couldn’t stop glancing at Jaskier. 

“Well, that’s a start.” Shrike murmured, lips curling into a grin that spelled trouble for those on the other end. She reached up, taking off the tricorn hat she wore and setting it atop Ciri’s soft waves. It slumped down over her eyes and Ciri reached up to right it, bright green eyes wide as she looked up at Shrike. “Keep it.” Shrike winked at her and stood, turning on her heel to walk over to one of the crates she’d been looking at. 

She reached in, grabbing out three pomegranates that she tossed at Jaskier. 

The sailor fumbled his mandolin, swinging it to rest against his back as he struggled to catch the fruits. 

“It’s coming out of your pay.” Shrike said, glancing over her shoulder at Jaskier before she turned to walk towards another sailor by a crate further down the dock. 

Geralt didn’t miss Jaskier’s grimace and he pursed his lips slightly - “Just tell me how much and I’ll pay you.” He said, and let Ciri step forward to take the pomegranates from Jaskier, holding them in her arms. 

“Absolutely not!” Jaskier said, turning a smile on Geralt. It made him huff and he shook his head. 

“Jaskier. I appreciate the gesture, but I’ve plenty of crowns. Trust me.” Geralt tried to say it gently, but it came out firm - as his voice often did.

There was a moment of quiet consideration and then Jaskier smirked. 

_That_ made Geralt’s stomach do funny things. 

“Come back tonight. We’ve got a few days here. Go dancing with me and I’ll consider you debt free.” Jaskier proposed, rather boldly. It made that same heat from before rise to Geralt’s cheeks - but strong enough that he was sure that his blush showed. 

And it was not a time that he could blame sunburn. 

“I--” 

Ciri’s hand grabbed his own and she tugged it, insistently, until Geralt leaned down to hear what she had to say - one arm cradling all the pomegranates to her chest. 

“Miss Yenna can tuck me in.” Ciri said, quietly, and offered Geralt a tiny smile. “You should have fun.” 

Geralt loved her. He really did. Geralt glanced at Jaskier, pursing his lips, and he finally heaved a soft sigh. If Jaskier has seen his limp and _still_ wished to dance, then, well--

“Alright.” He murmured back, and then straightened up, offering out his hand. “You drive a hard bargain, Jaskier, but I’ll be here.” 

They shook on it, Jaskier grinning so wide that it was a wonder he didn’t pull a muscle in his cheeks. 

Most of the market stalls had been broken down. 

It left the city square open, lanterns burning merrily, yellow light spilling over the ground. Already women spun across the stones, arm in arm with sailors. They laughed, high voices twinkling like the stars above, the sound nearly lost beneath the instruments filling the air. 

Geralt’s hair was pulled back from his face and up into a style that Yennefer and Ciri had practically forced his slight waves into. Braids were pinned into place with silver hair pins. He’d been told not to lose them - very seriously - by Yennefer, her voice a sharp contrast to the gentle way she slid the pins into his hair. 

He wore a long, rather thin, overcoat on top of a plain, white poet’s shirt - though with far less lace on it than the one that Jaskier sported. 

Geralt spied him from across the square and took a moment just to _watch_ him. 

He looked so _alive_ , never quite still, lifting his hands to cup around his mouth - shouting the lyrics along with the singer of the band that had set up in the center of the square. 

Geralt had only just gathered up the courage to step forward when those otherworldly blue eyes found him and Jaskier’s face-- 

It-- 

Ciri was the only one who had ever looked quite so happy to see him. He’d barely taken one step towards Jaskier before the sailor was across the courtyard, pressing into Geralt’s space, bowing deeply at the waist and grabbing up one of Geralt’s hands - a hand that he pressed a kiss to the back of. 

It made Geralt flush properly. 

A huff. 

“No time to waste, my dear! The drink is flowing and the music is full - an entire band, just _listen_ !” Jaskier laughed, tugging Geralt along by his hand as if Geralt was supposed to just let _my dear_ roll off his shoulders. 

Geralt fell into step after Jaskier - if only because Jaskier led without going too quick. It was easy to follow, to focus on his steps, his voice as he sang along with the songs. He was adjusting the dances Geralt had noted, slightly embarrassed at the need for it, so that Geralt’s bad leg didn’t cause him to fall behind. 

As the night wore on, however, Geralt very nearly forgot about the rest of the crowd, finding himself smiling more than not, bumping shoulders with Jaskier as they drank. 

A sailor, a musician, a professor once - Jaskier shared tales of his past, chattering away at Geralt as Geralt just soaked it all in. 

“I run a vineyard.” He offered at last, biting the inside of his cheek at Jaskier’s surprised look. 

“Oh?” A pause. “Is the wine… good?” It was a tentative question and the sheer unexpectedness as well as the hesitance had Geralt beginning to laugh. It was soft at first, only just shaking his shoulders, but it turned into a belly aching chortle. His head threw back and he shook his head, a few pieces of hair that had come loose from his updo sticking to his sweaty temple. 

“I would certainly hope so.” Geralt managed, grinning at Jaskier. He hadn’t asked at all about Geralt’s money, how much wine brought in, nothing. It was… refreshing. “I’ll have to let you judge for yourself some time.” He said, tipping his head a bit. He downed the rest of his wine and turned his gaze to the dancing crowd. 

Jaskier offered him up an arm and they went back to it, easily adjusting to each other now that they’d spent the time learning each other’s steps.

A song started up that had the ladies of the crowd calling out a _woo!_ with each pause of the band. 

Jaskier got a twinkle in his eyes that told Geralt he was in trouble, but before he could properly assess the situation, Jaskier’s strong arms gripped his waist and Geralt’s feet _left the stone_. 

He was so stunned by the movement that his own hands could only brace against Jaskier’s shoulders, incredulous as Jaskier set him down so very gently as to avoid jostling his leg. A soft huff of breath - nearly a laugh, nearly something else-- 

The heat that had been rising in him slowly through the course of the night suddenly seemed much more real and present than before. 

They danced until Geralt’s hair was half out of its updo, until they both had sweat coating their brows, until they’d drunk enough to find themselves stumbling through the steps, laughing wildly. Geralt’s thigh and hip ached sharply, but he could not find it in himself to regret it, nor how sore it would be for the next few days. 

They ended up outside a tavern on their way to grab another round and to let Geralt’s leg rest - and Jaskier pressed him up against the side of the building, hands splayed against the wall on either side of Geralt’s head. 

“You’re beautiful.” Jaskier murmured and Geralt felt his heart run away from him, rabbiting right out of his chest and fleeing towards Jaskier’s work worn hands. 

A breath shuddered out of Geralt’s mouth, his grin softening, dropping almost entirely save for a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth. One of his own calloused hands reached up, fingers brushing against Jaskier’s jaw where stubble was just beginning to grow in. 

“I think you might’ve damaged your eyes, good sir.” Geralt teased, gently, and huffed a soft puff of air - close to a laugh at the expression on Jaskier’s face. 

“I shall write you the finest of songs.” Jaskier leaned in closer, past his hand, his nose brushing against Geralt’s. His breath hitched a bit and his eyelids fluttered shut, tipping his head to let their foreheads bump together. “And then perhaps you shall see yourself as I do.” Jaskier continued, and before he could say something else ridiculous, Geralt kissed him. 

The sun shone through the small inn window, lighting Jaskier’s hair a gentle gold. 

Geralt’s sleep clumsy fingers moved to brush some of the fringe back from his forehead, thumb ghosting over his temple. 

His thigh and hip were complaining _loudly_ , but it had been worth it. All of it. 

Jaskier’s incredible eyes fluttered open slowly, registering his presence after a few moments - a smile spread over Jaskier’s lips like a flower might lean towards the sun. It made Geralt’s poor romantic soul ache and Jaskier pushed himself up onto an elbow, leaning in to brush his mouth against Geralt’s with a soft hum. 

He tasted of morning and warmth and salt - from sweat or the sea, it hardly mattered. It was a summer’s day, a sailor at dawn, a fresh breeze that wrapped around Geralt as if it was welcoming him home. 

“Good morning.” Jaskier’s voice was a soft rasp in his throat, lips pressing to Geralt’s forehead next and Geralt closed his eyes with a sigh. 

“Mm.” Gerat agreed, not sure he was up to speaking just yet. 

A laugh, muffled against Geralt’s loose, messy hair. “I see you’re not a morning person.” 

_Not anymore_ , Geralt doesn’t say. 

Jaskier pushed himself up to sit, leaning against the headboard as he yawned a little, coming back to the world much in the way the fussy barn cats might. 

Geralt turned his head to look up at him, but didn’t make any effort to sit up - he was afraid his hip might just become unbearable if he tried to move in that moment. “When do you have to go?” He asked. 

Geralt was never very good at sitting around and waiting for an answer. If he wanted to hear it, he’d find it - seek it out like a bloodhound on a trail. If he didn’t want to know… Geralt had been very good at running when he was younger. It had kept him alive. 

Jaskier’s smile faded. 

“Tomorrow.” He admitted - “We’re only here for a couple of days to drop off cargo.” 

There was a pause between them, the two of them simply watching each other. 

“Do you--”

“Can I--” 

Quiet again. 

“Can I write to you?” Jaskier asked, at last, brushing a piece of hair back from Geralt’s face. 

It made Geralt’s heart trip over itself once more - and yet. “Do you write to all the poor sods you dance with?” He asked, lifting a brow, watching the way Jaskier wrinkled his nose in response. 

“Hardly.” Jaskier retorted, just as quickly, seemingly unphased by the slight, sudden defensiveness. “Haven’t got the time. I’m a musician, darling, and with the sea as a muse my pen is never still.” Fingers trace over Geralt’s brows, press gently to rid them of the furrow. 

“But I’d like to write to you.” It sounded surprisingly vulnerable and small for a man that had been nothing but confident and loud since he’d met him. 

Geralt blinked slowly, reaching up at last to cover Jaskier’s hand with his own, allowing his palm to settle over his cheek. 

“Shall you tell me of your adventures? Sea monsters and sirens?” Geralt asked, voice low and quiet. 

“If I run into any.” Jaskier murmured in return, with a small smile, the edges of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Though I’m far more prone to prattle about the way the sky meets the sea, or the way the clouds swirl in a storm.” 

Geralt rumbled a soft sound and turned his head to press a kiss into Jaskier’s palm. 

“Fine. Yes, you can send me your ramblings of an upset sea.” Geralt said, with a sigh, as if it was a monumental task to endure. Inside, his heart played a strange tune against his ribs. 

Jaskier smiled and it was a sunrise. 

“What did I tell you about extended physical activity?” Regis’s voice was highly disapproving as he shot Geralt a sharp look across the small sitting room that served as Ciri’s play room. 

“I wasn’t exactly _planning_ on it…” Geralt started, his brows furrowed. 

A pause and then Regis’s brows rose slowly, surprise and understanding dawning in his gaze. “Ah. I see. So you simply decided to keep going even after your hip shouted at you to _stop_?” The pomp was filtering through and Geralt heaved a sigh, knowing that he’d sent Regis into one of his moods. 

“You weren’t there.” Geralt grumbled. “He was-- _charming_.” 

“Charming enough to have you off your feet for a week?” Regis challenged and Geralt returned his look defiantly. 

“Three days.” Geralt huffed. 

“A week.” Before Geralt had even finished speaking Regis announced the time frame with all the force of a King making a decree. 

Geralt groaned. “A week.” He echoed, in defeat. 

Regis smiled then, something slightly mischievous despite how small it was. “Was he very good? The women always have such high praises for the sailor folk, you know.” His dark brown eyes sparkled from under his bushy brows and Geralt groaned softly. 

Geralt could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks and even still he could not control it. His gaze dropped to his lap and he plucked at a thread on his worn thin sleep pants - “It was worth it.” He said at last and Regis burst into laughter that came from his stomach, eyes crinkling at the edges, tossing his head back. 

“Is this from your infamous sailor?” Eskel asked, plucking the parchment from his desk, lifting his brows. The scarred side of his mouth made his smile lopsided, but his eyes sparkled pleasantly with good humor. 

Geralt grunted and leaned from his seat to snatch the letter back, his cheeks heating a bit. 

“It’s hardly any of your business.” Geralt huffed and Eskel tipped his head, leaning his hip up against the edge of his desk. A hum. 

“But I think it might be… After all, it’s not often my brother gets taken enough by someone to _write_ them.” Eskel pointed out, and Geralt wrinkled his nose. 

“I’m not taken.” He muttered and Eskel barked out a soft laugh, his armor clinking gently. 

“Not yet, that is.” Eskel pointed out, and pushed off the desk to stand properly, rolling his shoulders in the way that meant he was about to dole out a piece of advice he thought you should listen to. 

Geralt had seen the motion more often than he’d like to admit in his life. 

“If you care for him, then you care for him. But you have to understand that sailors… they aren’t the kind to settle down, Geralt.” Eskel murmured. 

There was a small silence. 

“I wouldn’t have settled if I had a choice, Eskel. I should--” A pause. “I should be out there on the roads with you and Lambert. I should be--” 

“You should be living comfortably.” Eskel overran him, looking stern. “What you did-- Geralt, whether you believe it or not, you are a hero and you deserve a _rest_.” 

“I’m not a hero.” Geralt snapped, bristling a little. “It was my _job_.” 

“And plenty of people in your position would have used that power and that influence for less than moral actions. You’re a good man, Geralt. And I’ll not hear any of your arguing.” Eskel gave him a sharp look and walked around his desk to clap a strong hand down against Geralt’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. 

“Write your sailor. Care for him. But care for yourself as well.” Eskel let his hand slip from his shoulder as he stepped away, turning to leave the room. 

“Tell me, is dear Yennefer still tutoring Ciri?” He asked, with a crooked smile. Geralt sighed - 

“They’re most likely in the library.” He answered, with a hum. 

The market was bustling and seabirds cried out above. 

Layers of voices made it hard to pick out the shanties, but as Geralt neared the docks, it became clearer. A smile pulled at Geralt’s lips - usually his chest would ache in these moments, longing for Jaskier’s voice rather than having to imagine it reading the letters he received. 

The only reason he was not aching now was because he knew that somewhere in the chaos, Jaskier’s voice was going to reside. 

Geralt saw him before he heard him, making eye contact over the heads of sailors currently unloading the ship they’d arrived on. 

Geralt’s breath caught and for a moment there was stillness - the world seemed to hold its breath as they figured each other out. 

He had been ever so afraid it might have changed, that the words exchanged in their letters were just-- to soothe each other with company, rather than truly from the heart. 

But then Jaskier _smiled_. 

It lit up his whole face and Geralt felt his breath hitch again, blinking through a suddenly blurry gaze as Jaskier started picking his way through the mess. 

Faster, faster, until the sailor was upon him, hands gripping his waist and lifting him. A twirl before he was set gently down upon his feet, that smile pressed to Geralt’s mouth, uncaring of an audience. 

A soft, almost wounded sound - shocked, really, at how easily Jaskier fell back into him. And then a laugh. 

That certainly made up his mind about whether or not he had to worry about how much he could say, how much he could touch. 

Geralt’s hands cupped Jaskier’s cheeks and he grinned as Jaskier peppered his face with kisses. “Well you seem happy to see me.” 

“You’re a breath of fresh air, darling! A sunrise, the smell of a good breakfast in the morning, a soft bed!” Jaskier’s half shouting and it sends Geralt into another fit of laughter, settling his arms around his neck to lean against him slightly. 

“You’re acting half drunk already. Are you sure you didn’t dip into any of the wine aboard?” Geralt teased, and snorted softly at the kiss that silenced him from further questions. 

When they parted Jaskier looked dazed and pleased in a way that delighted Geralt far more than he would like to admit. 

“How long--?” Geralt asked, biting his lip. Jaskier’s eyes sparkled, crinkled at the corners with the force of his smile. 

“Two weeks.” The sailor answered and Geralt’s heart flipped. 

“Come home with me.” Breathless. 

Yennefer met them in the foyer, one perfectly shaped brow arching above her kohl lined eyes. 

Her dress, while it could have been tailored to help hide the unusual curve of her spine, only dipped low, revealing more shoulder and collarbone than what most might deem _appropriate_ in polite company. 

She met Jaskier’s gaze defiantly, a glare that might have set lesser men on fire. 

As it was, Jaskier merely took one of her hands and bowed slightly to press a kiss to the back of it. 

“Lady Yennefer. I’ve heard many praises of your knowledge and character.” Jaskier murmured as he straightened and Yennefer lifted her chin, staring down her nose at him for a moment. 

A low hum from her throat. 

“If you hurt either of them, they won’t find any evidence that you existed at all.” Yennefer’s silky voice gave only _threat_ and Geralt sighed softly. 

“Yennefer…” 

“No.” Jaskier murmured, a hand resting on his arm. “I believe you, my lady, but - you haven’t a reason to worry. I assure you.” 

Yennefer searched his face for a few moments longer and then huffed. “Good.” She said, at last, and turned to leave the foyer, floating towards the kitchen. 

“Ciri, darling!” She called and moved as gracefully as she ever had. 

Geralt reached a hand up to scrub at his face with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” 

“Oh, don’t apologize.” Jaskier hooked his hand in Geralt’s elbow. “I’m glad that you have someone to look out for you.” A pause. “Although I could have done without the glare. Do you think if I master that look I could kill some of the seabirds that try to steal my lunches?” He asked, thoughtfully, and Geralt could not stop his smile. 

He smiled around Jaskier more than he had in… _years_. 

“Now…” Jaskier hummed - “Let’s see what we can do about that dance you’ve waited on, hm?”

Jaskier had only been living with them for a week, but it was like he had always been there. 

It was seamless the way he twirled around Geralt in the kitchen in the morning, the way he bumped his shoulder against Barnabas-Basil’s, the way he took Ciri’s hand and taught her shanty dances-- 

And bawdy tunes that made Yennefer watch them shrewdly with a smile she thought she hid better than she did. 

Geralt was happy. Happier than he had been in a long time. 

And yet. 

There were nights where Geralt would be bleary, between sleeping and waking, watching Jaskier in the dim light of the moon that spilled through his windows. 

Jaskier did not watch _him_ \- he looked out the window, towards the horizon. Towards the horizon that Geralt knew hid the sea from him. 

Geralt ached in those moments, unable to hide from it. 

He would never be the sea, never be so captivating as the adventure that Jaskier could find there, and so it was that way that he always knew that he could only borrow Jaskier. 

Geralt could have him like the tides - sweeping in and away, blessing the shore with their presence before retreating once more. 

Geralt ached, yes, but even still he found himself grateful. 

When their two weeks were up, Ciri cried. Terribly. It made it easier for Geralt to focus on her rather than on his own sadness, holding Ciri tucked under his arm against his side as they both watched Shrike’s ship grow smaller and smaller, disappearing into the distance. 

Jaskier would come back. 

Anna Henrietta watched him with narrowed eyes over her goblet of wine. 

“You are lucky that I favor you so.” Her accent is just as crisp as the chill of the morning air. 

Geralt took a sip of his wine, letting it sit on his tongue, rolling it around to enjoy it. He swallowed and turned to look at her, a smile tugging lightly at his lips. 

“To be fair.” Geralt began, watching her brow twitch. “I had no idea you had warned them of banishment. Though, I can see why Captain Shrike might… upset you.” Geralt’s always been a bit clumsy with words, but he does his best around Anna Henrietta. She’s the reason his life is able to be so good now and though she would never take it from him, he still feels a duty to be thankful. 

“As I said, Wolf.” Anna Henrietta murmured, “Lucky.” She turned her gaze towards the horizon, watching the sky change color as the sun steadily climbed higher. 

“I will let the past go, but they should learn some respect should they wish to step foot into the main square, much less near the palace. And I do expect to meet him, you know this?” Her painted lips pulled into a slight smirk and Geralt was reminded why he liked her in the first place. “I cannot allow my most trusted knight to court someone I have never met.” 

Geralt’s nose scrunched up immediately and he shot her a dry look. “Not a knight anymore.” He reminded and continued - “And we’re not courting.” 

A carefully shaped brow rose - “Oh? Then what do you call this, then?” She asked, gesturing towards him slightly. “This… _pining_ . Writing _love letters_.” A laugh. 

“They’re not love letters.” Geralt scoffed, to his own mortification feeling heat rise along his cheeks and the back of his neck. 

“Wolf, you are incredibly intelligent and incredibly daft all at once.” Anna Henrietta grinned and it was open, crinkling the corners of her eyes in a way she hardly ever allowed in her court. “A sailor never comes back like he does. Not unless he loves you. And _you_ . Must I even _begin_?” She laughed again, gently tapping her goblet against Geralt’s. 

“To love.” She murmured, and there was only the slightest sadness buried in it. 

Geralt wanted to tell her she would find it someday, if she allowed herself. He didn’t, though, knew that the past only made her hurt. 

Instead, he sighed, echoing her in defeat as he knew she’d wait for him until he did so - “To love.” 

And they drank. 

So.

Geralt was in love. 

Geralt was in love _with a sailor_. 

He did not know how this was his life, but much of his life often felt that way. 

All the best things had come to him in the strangest of ways and Jaskier was no different. 

Every letter only drew Jaskier closer to his heart. Every visit only made Geralt want to hold him more tightly, keep him there. 

He did not resent the sea, but it was a near thing. 

Geralt had once sat at the docks and drank himself until he was loose enough to sing hoarsely, as if the wind might carry his voice across the distance between himself and Jaskier, as if Jaskier might hear it and return home. 

It had not been his best night, but Eskel had dragged him home and finished the bottle with him in the sitting room where they fell asleep sprawled in the soft armchairs. 

The years passed. 

Geralt loved. 

Geralt shared him with the sea, watched him go every time he had to, every time the yearning to taste freedom between his teeth was too much to stay. 

Geralt hoarded the gold signet ring away in his desk in his office, hidden in a drawer, hidden further in a small velvet pouch. 

Yennefer looked at him in _that way_ of hers each time Jaskier stayed, only scolding him for not _saying something, honestly, Geralt_ when Jaskier left again. 

Some part of Geralt wanted to give it to him. 

Another part told him that it wasn’t time, that when Jaskier was ready Geralt would press it into his palm and Jaskier would _stay_. 

The day was _hot_. 

Geralt had been sweating for _hours_. His hair, despite being pulled back, was plastered to his skin anywhere that it touched. 

He had sweated clean through his undershirt ages ago, when the sun had first swung high in the sky, and the off-white fabric was now a dark cream - both from dirt and dampness. 

Regis would fuss at him later, he knew, but he got tired of being _still_ and the ache in his hip would be well-earned after a hard day’s work. 

Geralt looked up from where he was holding a half full basket of grapes, squinting at the sounds of happy exclamations, too far away for him to hear clearly. 

And then, over the hill came Ciri, bounding along. She was tall now, nearly as tall as him, lanky in her youth with wise eyes and an enthusiasm he envied. Shrike’s hat was perched crookedly atop her head and she turned her back to him, her arms spread wide, a bounce in her step. 

It was who followed her that made Geralt’s breath catch. 

“Jaskier?” And Geralt knew that he could not hear him from where he stood - still, it slipped from his lips. 

Jaskier’s hair had begun greying in the last couple of years, streaks developing at his temples. It made him look refined, far more wise and poised than he really was - he still would pull Geralt into spontaneous dances whenever he pleased, grinning like a school boy. He tripped over his own feet, sang loudly, and chased the wind. He was young at heart and beautiful as he was the first day Geralt had seen him at the docks. 

Jaskier’s face lit up the way it always did the moment he saw Geralt, a sun tanned hand rising, waving at him. 

“Geralt!” His voice carried to him - Jaskier had a talent for filling the air around him to the brim. 

“Jaskier!” Geralt dropped the basket, uncaring for a moment whether his hard work spilled over the ground or not. His leg was stiff, but he immediately started making his way towards the two of them, though Jaskier broke into a jog to meet him halfway, sweeping him into his arms and twirling him as he always did on arrival. 

Ciri made a gagging sound. “I’m going inside. Don’t come in until you’ve finished your sappy shit.” 

“Language.” Geralt scolded, peering sternly at her over Jaskier’s shoulder. 

Jaskier laughed - “She’s all grown up now, love. Besides, I hardly think _you_ have room to talk.” He pointed out, pressing a kiss to his cheek. 

Geralt turned his head to press their lips together, a smile tugging at his lips as Ciri gagged and turned to take off towards the house at a run. 

“Welcome home.” Geralt murmured when they pulled back enough to talk, their foreheads pressed together. 

Jaskier pulled Geralt into his arms during the bath they took together after dinner - washing the salt of sweat from Geralt and the salt of the sea from Jaskier. 

Calloused hands brushed over Geralt’s skin idly, sweeping his hair back from his face again and again. 

It would be easy to sleep if Geralt wasn’t so focused on listening to his breathing, his heart. 

“You remember my letter?” Jaskier spoke at last, as the water began to cool. 

Geralt hummed a soft sound of acknowledgement, standing and tugging at one of Jaskier’s hands, urging him up so that they could dry. 

After they’d tucked themselves into bed, Jaskier continued - “I want to tell you the news. If that’s alright.” It was quiet in a way that he rarely ever heard Jaskier. 

A pause. 

“Alright…” Geralt murmured, cautiously. 

Silence reigned long enough that Geralt almost began to doze despite himself. 

“I’m not sailing on the next voyage. In fact, I’m sure Shrike has already pulled out of port.” Jaskier spoke, and Geralt was sure that he felt his world stop. 

“What?” 

“I’m staying.” Jaskier murmured, pressing a kiss to his hair. 

“So… so how long…?” Geralt forced out, shakily, because this-- maybe he _had_ fallen asleep and was only dreaming of the words that he had yearned to hear. 

“I’m not sailing on the next voyage either.” Jaskier said, his voice having gained some of its strength and confidence back. 

“Jaskier, what are you saying?” Geralt murmured, pushing himself up onto his elbow, heart thundering in his chest as he stared down at Jaskier’s face. 

“I’m saying.” Jaskier started, moving a hand to brush the backs of his knuckles very gently against Geralt’s cheekbone. “That I’m _staying_.” 

“I--” 

“As long as you want me.” Jaskier amended and tears sprung to Geralt’s eyes before he could even _think_ to try to control them. 

“Forever.” Geralt laughed wetly, rolling away from Jaskier and out of the bed. He took the blanket with him, wrapping it around himself just in case, ducking into his office to grab the small pouch, bringing it back with him to the bed where Jaskier was sitting up. 

He made a sight - hair damp and ruffled from the bath, bare, and utterly confused. 

“Jaskier, I--” Geralt sat on the edge of the bed, fingers trembling slightly. Instead of trying to find the words, he reached for Jaskier’s hands and pressed the velvet against his palm. 

His eyes begged Jaskier to understand and at last the other man opened the small pouch, letting the ring tumble into his hand. 

A sharp intake of breath, a broken _Geralt_ as tears welled in Jaskier’s eyes. 

“For eternity.” Geralt breathed and Jaskier _laughed_ , sliding the ring onto his finger. 

Jaskier’s voice carried a pleasant tune from across the field, drifting back to where Geralt was perched on a chaise Jaskier had dragged out of the house and onto the grass. 

_Sit and watch, love. You just relax_. Too worried about his leg as usual, but Geralt couldn’t say he protested the view. 

“ _Oh, I won’t go sailing anymore, I won’t obey the ocean’s call. I’m staying_ \--” Jaskier sang and the other workers chimed in with laughs and grins. 

“ _Right here!”_

“ _I’ll be a man of the land, I’ll be a man of the trees, I’ll be a man wherever my husband will be.”_

The ring on Jaskier’s finger caught the sunlight and glimmered-- 

“ _I won’t be any captain’s mate, I won’t be servant of the seas - ‘cause this lovely little husband is all I need.”_

Jaskier tossed a wink over his shoulder and Geralt smiled, relaxing against the chaise, utterly _happy._

**_“If you are in the garden,_ **

**_I will dress myself in leaves._ **

**_If you are in the sea I will slide_ **

**_into that smooth blue nest,_ **

**_I will talk to fish, I will adore salt.”_ **

**Mary Oliver**

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Oak & Ash & Thorn by The Longest Johns
> 
> Song credits:  
> Spanish Lady by Celtic Woman (modified lyrics)  
> For the Dancing and the Dreaming by Erutan  
> Retirement Song by The Longest Johns (modified lyrics)
> 
> Come shout at me on tumblr at xdandelionxbloomx!


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